


Beasts & Burdens

by lizandletdie



Series: Beasts & Burdens [1]
Category: 'Screenplay' Safe (TV Episode 1993), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nostelle, Rumbelle Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandletdie/pseuds/lizandletdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't remember anything from her life before she woke up, but the stranger who takes care of her makes it very easy to let herself forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Safe

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my very first Nostelle fic. I wanted to explore the concept of what makes someone or something beastly, and in doing that I also hit on the idea of what makes a person a burden. This isn't exactly a traditional Nostelle story, but I hope you'll like it.
> 
> I hate that I have to do this, but apparently I do. If you're reading this fic anywhere besides AO3, it was posted without my consent and likely profited someone else. Please consider [donating](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_donations&business=CZNGXGNP4PRX4&lc=US&item_name=The%20Mantis%20Fund&currency_code=USD&bn=PP%2dDonationsBF%3abtn_donate_SM%2egif%3aNonHosted) or swinging by my Tumblr (standbyyourmantis) to let me know what you thought!

 It was cold – a bone chilling kind of cold that soaked into her bones through her thin cotton pants and turned her blood into ice in her veins. Her already pale skin looked translucent in the twilight and the cold, and Belle amused herself by tracing the paths of her purple-blue veins under the delicate skin of her arms. Skin so thin and fragile – how can something so thin hold so much blood? So much warm red blood, when the rest of her was so cold?

She shuddered involuntarily, her teeth chattering finally driving her to seek refuge from the icy London weather. It wasn't the dying she feared, it was the cold. Cold was so much worse than death, than warm blood in blue veins. It was cold that had pushed her out of the asylum, the cold and damp and meds. Medicine that kept her grey and foggy and robbed memories. It was so hard to remember now, things were shifting like quicksand under her feet and what was real and what was a dream? She didn't remember. She didn't know which parts were real and which were fantasy and voices.

There was a castle in the distance and Belle knew – _there!_ She could be safe there. The castle would protect her and she stumbled along passing people making noise and people walking by and people on phones and carrying bags of shopping and children and everything was going faster and too slow and then she was in front of the castle. The signs said _Connors Square Tenement_ and _condemned_ and _keep out_ but she knew those were lies. The castle didn't have a moat, but when she found a hole just big enough for a small person to squeeze through (and she was very small and cold and full of blood) she was surprised at the warmth. It wasn't warm enough, never warm enough but there was warmth in it somewhere. She would be safe here, moving further into the building towards the inside rooms where she thought it might be even warmer and safer.

She found a bin fire in one of the rooms. A hearth burning warm and bright and oh so welcome as the greyness started to overtake her and she curled up next to it. This was a good place, this was a place to keep her safe. Safe and warm, like a womb, like a home and a bed and a place she couldn't remember.

Safe.

 

She wasn't really sure how long she slept, but the first thing she was aware of was that there was a blanket over her that she didn't think she'd been lucid enough to procure the night before. No, not a blanket really – more like a tarp, a piece of heavy canvas. A dust cover, maybe? She realized she was only so fixated on this because of the drugs running through her system slightly before she realized she should probably be worried about the appearance of something covering her rather than the exact type of thing it was.

Her eyes flew open and she jerked awake, preparing to face whatever threat had appeared during the night. Instead, she found nothing in particular – the fire in the bin still roaring like it had the night before. There was light streaming between the slats of the boarded up windows, illuminating bits of trash scattered about. There were some other canvas sheets like this one spread on the floor across the fire from her arranged in something resembling a bed.

Her stomach roiled violently from the sudden movement and she leaned away from her makeshift blanket and emptied the meager contents of her stomach onto the floor. She didn't remember exactly what her last meal had been – she didn't really remember much at all. Everything still felt a little fuzzy and thinking too hard about anything that came before she woke up just felt wrong somehow, so instead she just focused on trying to force her body back into her control. Her hands were shaking, and even though she wasn't really cold anymore she couldn't control the shaking.

 _Withdrawal_. She didn't know how she knew that's what this was, or what she was withdrawing from, but the light burned her eyes and her head felt like it was splitting open and she didn't feel like questioning it. She was weak, and she couldn't stand, and the realization that she was going to be entirely at the mercy of whomever had been sleeping here slowly crept into her sluggish brain.

She was torn between the competing urges to try to crawl out into the street and to burrow further under her makeshift blanket and try to sleep off the drugs working their way out of her system. It was only the fact that whoever lived here had found her when she was completely helpless and unconscious and seemingly did nothing more than put a blanket over – her whereas she had no such guarantee from the people on the street – that kept her curled up in a little ball on the hard floor.

She could only hope that she was making the right choice.

 

Ya didn't leave a bird like that out in the open, no matter how poorly she was doing. The wee thing had been shivering on the floor with her eyes glazed over when he found her, and Nosty knew what that meant (more from being in the nut house than from being on the street) – she was coming down off of something rough and was having a bad time of it.

She'd been passed out in the room he slept in when he left for food, not that he was getting a lot of sleep these days (or a lot of food, come to think of it). He wanted to, mind. Being awake was the last thing he wanted, but whenever he tried to sleep he felt it slipping out of his reach as he went about it. Sleep was lost in a haze of things he didn't like thinking about, so instead he'd spent the night watching the little bird as she shivered and convulsed. If he'd been a more upstanding citizen, he'd have called the hospital to send someone out and collect her, but they'd have taken one long look at his sorry state and hauled him in as well. Besides, he recognized the clothes she was wearing – she'd slipped out of some hospital or another and he didn't think she'd thank him for sending her back to one.

So instead, he'd watched her breathing for a lack of anything better to do, and he woke up without realizing he'd fallen asleep. Well then, that was certainly a surprise. Nosty didn't usually sleep much – when he was feeling good he didn't need it, and when he was in one of these moods he couldn't hardly sleep.

Waking up reminded him he hadn't eaten the day before. This wasn't unusual, either – it was a good week that he ate every day – but the wee lass on the floor probably could use some food in her and he wouldn't mind a bite himself. She looked halfway to starved from what he'd seen, and now that she'd found his hideaway spot he didn't much like the idea of letting her wander about the city without putting the fear into her first.

Assuming she lived that long, anyway. He'd not give her even odds at that just quietly, but didn't mean he needed to help her along. Nosty had no real love for the nuthouse, although he wasn't above spending the colder months there if things got a bit rough for him. If she'd snuck out in the middle of the night and gone wandering, she probably had a good reason for it. And who knows? She might be interesting.

The smell of sick accosted him when he walked into the room. He was fairly sure that was a good sign, though, especially when he saw her still curled where he'd left her, but wide awake. He took a wide circle around the room to make his way to his bed – such that it was.

To emphasize how little he cared about her, he took a bite of the apple he'd scavenged from the bin behind the grocer. It weren't the most dignified way to eat, but when he wasn't feeling up to dealing or thieving it wasn't a bad way to get something in his belly on fairly short notice. She watched him wide-eyed with fear as he walked around the room. Fear was something he liked seeing, fear was an emotion he knew how to react to. Her fear put him in a position of power and in this room he had to be the lord and master. There was no room here for a little princess who didn't know what her place had to be on the streets.

He took another bite as she watched him like she was afraid he'd do something to her. He smirked knowingly, causing her to blush and pull the blanket tighter around herself. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and pulled an orange from the sack he'd been carrying and rolled it towards her. She reached a tentative hand out and snagged it from the floor, clutching it to her nervously.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

She had a pretty voice, didn't she? Fitting for a pretty girl, he figured.

“Eat it,” he said to her when she didn't make any move to unpeel the orange. “The sugar'll help ya.”

She nodded, looking down as she unpeeled the thing and popped a slice into her pretty mouth, juice glistening on her fingertips. Maybe he'd keep her, he decided. She was a pretty enough thing, and he couldn't see her doing too well on the streets by herself as wee and scared as she was.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” she said once she'd managed to get down about half the orange. “I wasn't really myself.”

“Bit o' a rough night?”

“Something like that,” she replied with something bordering on a smile. “I don't usually make a habit of wandering around while high.”

She had perfect teeth, he realized. She had soft hands, too. Her nails were neatly trimmed and her skin was clean. This wasn't the sort of bird he usually came across, they had a few rungs to fall before they went from pampered princess to convulsing on the floor of an abandoned tenement house while he watched. Someone would be missing her soon, if they weren't already. This little bird could be more trouble than she was worth.

“You got a name, hen?” it wasn't really a question, more of a demand. If she was about to bring the law down on him then he needed to know that now.

He was prepared for her to refuse, but she didn't say no. She didn't say yes, either, mind. Instead, she wrinkled her forehead and looked confused for a little bit.

“I don't know,” she finally said. “I don't really remember.”

“Don't remember your own name?”

She shook her head.

“You ain't lying to me, now, is ya?” he said in his most dangerous voice. “'cause I like you, birdie. Hate to think of us getting off on the wrong foot.”

“I don't remember much of anything,” she admitted quietly. “It's all kind of...blurry.”

“Blurry, eh?” he looked her over hard. She weren't in no state to be making up stories – at least not good ones. And she had been quite a mess when he'd seen her, maybe her brain was all scrambled. Wouldn't be the strangest thing Nosty'd seen. Once one of his boys had taken too much of something or another and woke up three weeks later with a nice new flat, a posh job, and a girl he didn't remember on top of him. Hadn't taken too long for the boy to work his way back down to Nosty's level, though –never really did for any of 'em. Once you'd been there, you tended to stay unless something special happened.

“You were in the hospital,” he finally said, just to test her.

She seemed to think about this for a little while, cupping the remaining half of her orange in her pretty little hands as she screwed her face up hard.

“Yes,” she said finally. “That sounds right. I was in the hospital. For my chest.”

“For your head, birdie,” he taunted her. “Those scrubs ain't from the medical side. You're a nutter.”

“But my chest...” she insisted, pulling down the neck of her gown a little bit and revealing a deep, ugly wound there. It was freshly healed, leaving a tangled purple knot of scar tissue where once would have been perfect milky skin. Nosty recognized a fresh stabbing when he saw one – this one weren't yet two months old.

“Jesus,” he clucked. “What the hell trouble'd you get yourself into, birdie?”

She shook a little bit, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes and making them look bigger somehow, more helpless. She was like a fecking kitten who wandered onto his porch. What the buggering hell was he going to _do_ with her?

“I don't know,” she whispered. “I have no idea. I don't remember any of it.”

 

Her new flatmate had stopped asking her questions after she'd shown him the scar. She barely remembered having the wound, only a vague sense of warm blood on her chest and a resignation to her fate. Even that much was something new, something she'd not remembered until she'd pulled down her shirt to show him the scar and saw it herself – she'd only known there was something wrong with her chest. So her memories were there, at least. She just had to figure out how to get to them.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of this man who she was apparently now living with. He had given her a blanket, and hadn't kicked her out onto the street, and he'd even gotten her something to eat. He had a bit more food in his bag that he set off to the side, although he didn't offer her anything else (but then, she didn't think she could keep anything else down). He also hadn't taken advantage of her, which was a fairly important consideration when she was in this state. She was essentially entirely at his mercy, and he hadn't come within arm's reach of her while she'd been awake. He was demanding, and she sensed his temper would probably be a sight to behold. So far, though, he was _safe_ and that was more than she'd hoped for.

She spent most of the rest of the day shivering and sweating under her blanket, and watching him for the lack of anything else to do. He seemed agitated somehow, pacing a little bit and muttering things to himself. Occasionally, he'd say something to her. He never seemed to expect a reply, which was good because she couldn't quite muster up the energy he had for these conversations.

Night snuck up on her. She'd been afraid of the encroaching darkness, unsure whether darkness might change him. _The measure of a man is who he is in the dark._ Someone used to tell her that, didn't they? But who? She pushed that thought back, though. Survival had to be her first priority, and everything else could wait.

She watched him warily as it grew darker and darker, and sure enough his mood turned to match the fading light. His movements became less erratic, and after awhile he simply crumpled onto his own makeshift bed.

She was still in the midst of a cold sweat and shivering uncontrollably, but she kept an eye on him anyway as though she could do anything were he inclined to come after her.

“You can stop staring holes in me, Birdie,” he said flatly. “I ain't about to steal your virtue. I like my girls a little more feisty.”

The last bit was said with a tone she thought was probably meant to be suggestive, but she could tell his heart wasn't really in it. This was a different man than the one she'd been with all day.

She blushed and hid her face under the blanket. She hadn't realized she was so obvious in her fear.

“Can you blame me?” she challenged (well, as challenging as she could be when she was dehydrated and shaking from the withdrawal). “I don't even know your name.”

He smiled weakly at her, glancing over.

“You don't know your own either, Birdie.”

She smiled a little and curled up into herself again. She liked him, she decided. She'd like him as long as she needed to.

 

Nosty'd been feeling pretty good all day, but he still crashed and crashed hard. She was still in rough shape, all things considered. He liked her, though. She didn't seem the complaining sort and she was a pretty little thing. No reason to kick her to the curb, anyway – at least yet. Besides, he liked watching her sleep. Her breathing was calming in its own way, and it helped him settle his mind to hear it. Well, it had last night when she'd been passed out, anyway. Now she was shaking and her teeth were chattering. He reached his hand out and touched the floor, only to find it was ice cold. It was colder tonight than it had been, the first snow of the year had fallen that morning, and she was still so weak.

He grimaced, making a decision quickly. He hoisted himself up (ignoring how much effort it seemed to take sometimes) and strode over to where she lay, pulling her to her feet.

“No...” she protested weakly, trying to squirm away from him.

She was too weak to do any damage, but it wasn't any easier with her taking swings.

“I ain't gonna hurt ya, Birdie,” he reminded her. “But ya can't sleep on the bare floor tonight.”

She whimpered, but seemed to resign herself to whatever fate he'd chosen for her. Granted, she didn't make it easy for him, collapsing a little and forcing him to scoop her up and carry her over to the pile of rags he'd made a bed out of. She seemed to snap out of her stupor a little when he dropped her to the pallet, trying to make a break for it before he could curl up behind her.

“Shush, Birdie,” he whispered into her ear, wrapping his body around hers. “If I let ye sleep alone you're gonna freeze.”

Nosty'd been on the streets long enough (and in enough cramped quarters before that) that he didn't find anything particularly special about sharing sleep with someone. Body heat could be a valuable commodity in the winter in certain circles, and it wasn't uncommon to bed down with a half dozen others during a particularly chilly night. Still, though, it was hard not to notice how well this little piece fit against him. He had his arms wrapped tight around her middle, pinning her so she couldn't run off and get herself killed, and it was like she'd been made to fit here in the circle of his body.

He could tell when she began to realize he didn't have any wicked plans for her besides holding her while she slept, because her body started to relax and he could feel her breathe easier.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked him softly. She didn't sound betrayed or angry, at least. Mostly it seemed like confusion.

“You're too weak to be out in the cold, Birdie,” he reminded her. “Can't have ye droppin' off in my room, I don't much care for waking up next to a corpse.”

“Why do you care?”

“You ever seen a dead person?”

She stiffened at his question, and he didn't wait for an answer – she didn't know it anyway.

“No sense in freezing to death on my account,” he continued. “I told you, I'm not gonna try nothing funny. Not unless you ask nicely, anyway.”

She didn't reply, but she didn't try to fight him, either.

“You asked me earlier for my name,” she whispered after a few minutes. “Birdie's as good a name as any, don't you think?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Works well for ya.”

“You never told me yours either,” she reminded him. “I need something to call you.”

“You didn't ask before,” he added. “But you can call me Nosty.”

“Nosty,” she breathed slowly and he loved the sound of his name on her lips in her posh little accent. Almost made him feel like something. “I like it.”

She curled back into him, the siren call of his body heat apparently too tempting to resist as she finally dropped off to sleep. Just like the night before, her breathing soothed him in its evenness. The addition of her heartbeat thrumming so close to his only sped his descent into sleep.

She was the best sleep he'd had in his entire life.

 

He was gone when she woke up the next morning, and for that she was grateful. She was better than yesterday, but not sure she was up to facing him. Beyond that, she desperately needed to find a toilet and maybe if she was very lucky she'd find a place to clean up a little bit. Her fever had broken in the night, leaving her sweaty and disgusting, but stronger than she had been.

It took some doing, but a quick wander from room to room found one that would serve her purposes on the other side of the building. She still wasn't quite up to walking long distances, and had to rest a few times, but she managed to make it by herself and that felt like a small victory if nothing else.

She also located a bucket and a hole in the wall, which allowed her to bring some snow inside to melt at the fire Nosty had kept banked the entire time she'd known him. Once she had some water, she cleaned herself as well as she could. She was afraid she probably looked worse than she had when she began, but she felt better now at least. She'd kill for a change of clothes, but then again who was she really trying to impress? Nosty was the only person she'd seen in days, and once you'd vomited in front of a man there really wasn't much further you could sink. She used what was left of her water to clean up the mess she'd left on the floor the day before, at least. She wished she could open the windows to clear out some of the stuffiness and the smell of unwashed bodies, but they were boarded up tight and anyway it was probably something she'd regret come nightfall when it was too cold for them to sleep.

Thinking of sleep made her wary. She'd been terrified the night before when Nosty had pulled her into his bed, but he'd done nothing but sleep beside her – apparently unconcerned about anything except her need for warmth. He'd been right, she knew. Now that the worst of the drugs seemed to be out of her system, she could understand that. He was a peculiar man and became more peculiar the more she knew of him. He did nothing but boss her around, but he also took care of her when she was ill. He hinted at being dangerous, but you'd never have known it from the way he had held her safe. He was a flurry of movement and sarcastic quips all morning, but he cried in his sleep and she didn't think he knew it.

He'd said something last night, too. He'd asked her if she'd ever seen a dead body. She was fairly sure it was meant to be a rhetorical question, but it had triggered something in her. There was a ghost of a memory there of big brown eyes and pale skin that kept growing paler. The image was still fuzzy, and she wasn't sure she wanted to dig too far into it. Birdie had seen a dead body. She couldn't remember who it was or when it had happened, but she knew it like she knew that her chest had been hurt. It was _there_ but just slightly out of her grasp. Cleaning up their living quarters was far preferable to lingering on this new thought.

It was early afternoon before Nosty finally returned, taking a look around as though he didn't quite believe that she'd managed to straighten things up a little bit. He was carrying a bag of something again, but this time it smelled warm and delicious and when he opened it up and tossed her a wrapped up hamburger she thought she might cry from delight. She was so hungry, the only thing she ever remembered eating had been the orange, and this was so much better.

She was ravenous, devouring the whole thing in a matter of moments. It wasn't until she'd finished and glanced up that she realized he had watched and was trying hard not to laugh at her.

“Hungry, were ya?” he said with a smug little smirk.

“A little bit,” she admitted, licking her fingers and enjoying that he didn't seem terribly offended by her awful manners. “I don't remember the last time I really ate anything.”

“Careful ye don't make yourself sick,” he reminded her. “You're still on the mend.”

“I'm feeling a lot better,” she reassured him, coming back to sit next to him on his little pallet.

He looked startled at her proximity but recovered quickly, putting on a facade that he saw nothing amiss about her sitting a foot and a half away from him. She'd made a choice while he'd been gone. It didn't really make any sense to pretend like they weren't sharing a bed as long as they were actually sharing one, and having 'her' blanket separate from 'his' was a waste of their finite resources. And anyway, if this was her life now then it was time to start acting like it. Maybe she'd not have been so open to this new arrangement if she remembered anything about her life before, but whatever happened _before_ had left her drugged up and with a huge scar on her chest. Perhaps this would be better.


	2. Violence

 The next few days went by much as the first few had. Nosty would leave her during the daytime but return in the evening. She never asked him where he went, and never told him about the memories that were returning. There were bits of them now which made up some semblance of a life – she remembered being a little girl and parents taking her to school, she remembered a first kiss, she remembered a Christmas when she was still young enough to get everything she'd ever wanted. She also remembered a brown haired lady who looked an awful lot like the one she remembered seeing bleeding next to her on cold pavement and a man who looked at her like she was the whole world.

She didn't like the memories. She preferred this little room where Nosty appeared and brought her things and she never had to make any hard choices. There wasn't quite enough food, and she was sure the little girl she now remembered being had slept in warmth with soft blankets, but there was some nagging part of her that told her she was better off here where the past couldn't get to her.

She wanted to outside sometimes, though. That was the one thing he had put his foot down on, she was absolutely not allowed to go outside. When he'd found out she'd been collecting snow to use to clean, he'd actually yelled at her. Not that she hadn't yelled back, but he seemed irrationally scared of her leaving for someone who seemed to have made a home in a condemned building.

“Nosty?” she had asked him one night as she lay next to him, waiting for sleep to claim them both.

He grunted in response, too far gone already to formulate words for her.

“Where do you go every day?”

“Back to me boys,” he muttered. “A man's gotta work, Birdie.”

“What do you do?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” he assured her, his voice becoming hard and defensive as he moved further from sleep. “I do what I have to.”

“Is that why you don't want me leaving?”

“What if it is?” he shot back, pulling away a little. “I'm trying ta keep you from being stabbed – or worse.”

“Is it really that bad, then?” she rolled over to face him. “Is what you do so bad that I could be hurt?”

“What are you asking?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Are you a killer, Nosty?” she said in a voice hardly above a whisper.

She wasn't really sure when she'd started to wonder that, maybe since she remembered the dying woman. But it was suddenly very important to her to know this about him. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he said yes, really. She had no place else to go, even if she'd known where she came from it was awful enough that she'd walked away and into a slum to escape. This was, apparently, the very best she could do for herself.

“It's not exactly my main line of work,” he growled at her. “But I ain't above it should the need arise.”

She didn't quite know what she'd expected him to say, but that wasn't really it. She pulled away from him though, and was surprised when he rolled her over onto her back and pinned her down.

“Where ya off to, Birdie?” he hissed in her ear. “Scared?”

“Let me go,” she replied, pulling hard against him, but still held in place. She was angry, but oddly enough not scared. He'd had plenty of opportunities to hurt her before – he could have killed her horribly any number of ways by now if that's what he was after. Instead, he curled up behind her at night and comforted her when she was ill. She probably should be afraid of him, but she couldn't be yet.

“You asked the question,” he reminded her. “You're the one who wanted to know. What now, hm?”

She didn't answer him, just stared and tried to put her thoughts in order. Nosty had killed people. Nosty was a criminal. Nosty was dangerous – Nosty wasn't dangerous to her.

“Think what you want to about me,” he continued in a low voice, baring his teeth. “You're only safe because of me, because of what I do. You're not above living off the fruits of it, are ya?”

He looked feral, like a scrapyard dog waiting to be let off his chain, but he was the one who'd put this chain on himself. He held her hard, but he didn't press his advantage – he didn't try to part her legs or to press his body against hers. And besides, he was right. Who was she to judge him for this? She didn't remember where she'd been before, but she doubted it was anywhere like this. She doubted that she'd ever had to scrape just to survive, or that she ever would, either. Beyond the anger in his eyes, though, she saw something else – she saw fear that hadn't been there before. Fear of her rejection, fear of her leaving – was that why he wouldn't let her outside?

Regardless, she had to reassure him. She didn't want to go, didn't want to be someplace else. Maybe she wouldn't have wanted this if she could remember who she was (maybe she had a husband somewhere waiting for her to come back?) but she couldn't remember, and right now this version of her wanted to be here in this tiny room on a pallet of tarps and rags and she didn't want to wake up and want anything else.

Nosty was still glaring at her, waiting for her to...what? Proclaim him evil and storm out? She would not do that, instead she arched upwards, pressing her lips to his softly before settling back down on the mat. He blinked at her quickly, all the anger gone from his face and replaced by dumb shock. It didn't last long, though – in a moment his hands were gone from her wrists, one curled into her hair as his lips returned to hers and the other stroking her hip lightly. For her part, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tighter. She didn't even know if she was a virgin or not, but she didn't rightly care. He was here now, and she wanted to kiss him.

His knee came between her legs, and his hand went from her hip to slide up her shirt and cup her breast. She gasped, and twined her legs with his to hold him close to her. She didn't want him to think he'd scared her away.

The kiss ended all at once, both breathing heavy and staring hard into each other's eyes. She wasn't sure why, but the moment seemed to fade. He slid off of her, looking dumbfounded by what had just happened, and she rolled over again to press her back to his front. It was like nothing had ever happened, except for the moment where he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, tender as a lamb.

“Goodnight, Birdie,” he whispered into her hair.

This time, sleep found her.

 

Her name was Belle, incidentally. He'd found that out from one of the many “missing person” posters scattered about town. Her name was Belle and her father was offering one hell of a reward for anyone with information leading to her whereabouts. That, more than anything, is what convinced him she needed a new set of clothes. If someone did come across her, it was a lot easier to explain a girl in ripped tights and a too big sweater than a girl still wearing hospital clothes. His bird – and she was his now, no question about that – had been so fucking grateful when he'd given them to her (ratty second hand things that they were) like he hadn't just lifted them from the charity shops and hoped he got her size right. Like she wasn't used to having new things from posh boutiques (but then she wasn't, because she still didn't fucking know who she was). Like he'd given her anything at all worth having.

He didn't even give her her name back, really. Kept that little piece of information to himself. He told himself it was because it didn't matter, that she didn't really want to go back yet anyway and letting her know people would be looking for her would only spook her. That was a feckin' lie, though. He didn't tell her because he was afraid she'd want to go if she knew where she came from. Birdie (because she'd not been Belle as long as he'd known her, just Birdie) was meant for better things than the likes of him, and he was desperately hoping she wouldn't realize it.

He was fucking mental for even trying, but he'd spent his fair share of time in the nuthouse and there was no reason to pretend to be sane. Besides, she was his now. She'd kissed him and she was his. He wasn't going to let some rich feckin' father with some posh address steal her back. She'd chosen Nosty, she'd wandered into his hiding spot when she'd needed someplace to go because her father had locked her away. If no one else would take care of her, he would. He always would.

Still, that left the business of what to do with her. He'd been laying as low as he dared, but that had too many risks to last too long. There was always the chance that someone might move in on his spot at the top of his little pack, which would be damn dangerous for everyone involved. There was also the chance he could get picked up for dealing or shoplifting and be kept away a little longer than expected, and where would she be with no food or any way to get more? Whether he liked it or not, she was safer hiding in plain sight.

None of that meant he really wanted to bring her by, mind. For one thing, she was a pretty little thing, and even though his boys were pretty well cowed, he knew he was going to have to smash some heads to make sure she wouldn't be harassed while they adjusted to her presence. But aside from the physical danger, there was the fact that honestly he didn't want her to be a part of that life. He wanted to do the things he had to do to survive and then come back and forget them all in her skin and in her hair and the smell of her neck. She was his secret, and she belonged to him. As long as he kept her in that room, he was her entire world. He'd have to figure something out right quick, though. Sooner or later someone was going to get suspicious of him sneaking off every evening and follow him back to see what he was hiding. There was the chance of someone stumbling upon her and returning her to her father.

He'd have to tell her about it sooner or later. Maybe after sunset – this things were always easier for them under the cover of dark somehow, like she trusted him more when she couldn't see him. Or maybe it was just easier for him to pretend.

He'd brought her sandwiches back that day (a little later than usual but it couldn't be helped). Nothing particularly special, but she always liked when there was bread in their meals and he'd been doing his best to make her happy. Only, she wasn't there like she always was. She'd never been anywhere else when he came back before, and it took him too long to wrap his head around that. There was no reason for her to be gone unless she'd left him or someone had taken her.

Nothing was out of place, though. He knew her well enough to know she'd at least have kicked up a struggle if someone came on her, knocked something over or left him some clue. So that just left the one option – she'd gone out herself. He backtracked outside, maybe she'd just gone snow collecting again (even though he'd told her not to).

Sure enough, the bucket she used was on the ground outside but there was no sign of her. Instead, there were footprints in the snow that weren't his. Nosty's blood went cold, nobody else had any reason to come through here, much less in a group.

He'd fucking _told_ her to stay hidden, hadn't he? At least the snow made them easy to follow. He had to find her, because he knew what would happen if he didn't. She was in so much danger. He let his anger flare up, fidgeting with the box cutter he kept tucked in the pocket of his jacket. He knew what happened to girls out here, girls that nobody would miss and with no one to protect them. Whoever had taken her had no fucking idea who they were messing with, did they? They didn't think anyone would come for her.

It didn't take long to find the bastards. They hadn't taken her far, the stupid fucks – they'd dragged her into a nearby alley and had her backed up against a wall between the three of 'em with the same look on her face she'd had that first night he pulled her into his bed. Fucking rich boys slumming it on his streets, looking to have a bit of fun and thought they'd drag a girl into an alley whether she liked it or not. He felt his rage bubbling over as he grabbed the closest one to him, ripping the boy away from his mates and slamming him hard against a wall.

The bastard started to protest, but as soon as he felt the cold metal of the box cutter pressed against his throat he wised right up and went slack. His buddies weren't much braver, turning their attention from Birdie to the nutter with the blade, just like he wanted.

“Feckin' big man,” Nosty snarled. “Takes three o' ya to trap one little bird?”

He punctuated his point by pressing the blade into the boy's neck, drawing just enough blood to keep the three of 'em off kilter.

“Hey, no harm done!” the wanker said nervously. “We didn't do anything to her, I swear!”

“Yeah,” one of his buddies added. “We didn't know she was yours. Just let him go and you'll never see us again.”

Nosty didn't even bother laughing at the idiots. He was scaring the piss right out of 'em.

“Ya fuckers stole a bird off her doorstep and didn't stop to think she might belong to anyone,” he replied. “Ya should be thankful you're still breathing.”

He was fucking furious, he just wanted them away from his Birdie as fast as he could manage it so he could get her back home and make sure she was all in one piece. He couldn't back down, though. If he backed down they were both as good as dead. If not from these three tossers then from the next ones. Weakness was death on the streets.

“We are!” the one with the knife in his throat whimpered. “I'm sorry! We won't do it again, I swear.”

“You're gonna be sorrier,” Nosty promised, bringing his blade up from the boy's throat to drag it down his face leaving a long cut.

The friend who'd been quiet so far decided to make a break for it, dashing out of the alley like his arse was on fire. The one who'd spoken up seemed on the edge of running off himself.

“Now,” Nosty growled after he'd finished carving up the bastard. “You're gonna walk out of this feckin' side of town and you're not gonna come back, understand?”

The boy was blinking away the blood that was dripping into his eyes, but he still nodded as best he could. Nosty released him, watching as he stumbled into the arms of his friend and both removed themselves from the alley as fast as they could manage.

Nosty didn't turn to Birdie until he was sure the threat had passed, and when he turned to see her she was crouched in a corner with her arms wrapped around herself. He knelt next to her as quietly as possible.

“Ya alright, Birdie?” he asked, barely daring to touch her for fear of agitating her further. “They didn't hurt you, did they?”

Maybe he should have killed the bastards, but he'd just wanted them away as fast as he could get them gone.

“No,” she replied, her voice strained with emotion. “You got here in time. You saved me.”

“I'm sorry I let you get snatched,” he whispered. “I shouldn't'a left ya so long.”

“It's not that,” she whimpered, falling into his arms. “I remember. I remember everything.”

 

Her name was Belle, oh God she was Belle French and her father was Moe French and her mother was dead. Colette French had bled to death on a cold sidewalk next to her only daughter. Belle was crying and shaking as the memories of the pain and the terror and how very, very afraid she'd been hit her all at once. She was dimly aware of Nosty pulling her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. She wanted him to take her back to the safety of their hiding place but she couldn't stop crying long enough to ask. She'd regained her mother only to lose her again in the same instant.

“We've gotta get home, Birdie,” he finally whispered into her hair. “We need to get hidden away before someone sees us.”

She was able to nod in response, and let him pull her up and practically carry her through the hole in the wall to their room. He sat her down on the pallet bed, stroking her hair as soothingly as he ever had as she continued to cry long past the point of tears. By the time she was calm enough to talk, her eyes were raw and swollen and her face felt sticky.

“My mother is dead,” she murmured to him by way of explanation.

“I'm sorry about that, Birdie,” he replied. “I honestly am.”

“I was there when it happened,” she continued. “It was late, and we were walking home from shopping. Mother daughter trip, she wanted to spend time with me because I was getting ready to move away. There were some boys – maybe three or four of them – and they...they came out of an alley, neither one of us saw them until it was too late. They wanted our bags, and we gave them everything. One of them tried to touch me, though, and Mum...she fought him. She was so brave, and I was so scared and they had knives.”

She gulped, and he made shushing sounds into her hair as she struggled to regain her composure.

“I watched her die,” she finally managed to say. “They stabbed both of us and left us for dead. I remembering laying there on the sidewalk next to her and she was smiling at me and trying to say something but she couldn't...there was no air, no noise coming out. And she faded away as I watched. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital and my father was there and nothing was ever right again. I was scared of everything – loud noises, groups of men, everything. And I hated myself for living, for letting her die to try to save me. Everything about me was just...wrong somehow. He finally had me admitted to the hospital after I tried to kill myself.”

The last words dropped in the room like a bomb, and he said nothing, only held her tighter.

“What happened?” he finally said, and she got the sense it was more because she had been waiting for him to ask her than because he truly wanted to know. But still, she had to tell somebody, she had to get it out.

“I don't really remember all of it,” she admitted. “I just remember climbing up onto the roof of my building because it was as close to my mother as I could get, and staring down at the sidewalk because I knew that was the place I had to die. I knew it like you might know that it's Tuesday, it was just a fact for me. The doctor said I was suffering a psychotic break and they gave me medicine to make me easier to handle until I felt better...the next clear memory I have is waking up here.”

“You should rest, Birdie,” he replied. “It's been a hard day.”

“My name is Belle,” she said, ignoring the gentle suggestion. “It's strange, though. None of this feels real yet. I remember it happening and I know it happened to me, but Belle and Birdie feel like two different people.”

“Rest,” he said, rolling her over onto her back and cuddling her. “You'll feel better if you take a nap.”

She nodded, because honestly she felt beyond exhaustion now, like she'd walked a thousand miles to be back here with him. And she would do anything to be with him, she realized. Nowhere in her reclaimed memories did she feel the urge to return to that life, or leave Nosty. She didn't want to go back to being Belle, when Birdie had been so very happy.

 

He'd known it was only a matter of time before he'd lose her, hadn't he? He'd let himself believe that this could be his to keep forever, and now he was going to pay for that mistake. Birds like Belle were a rare thing, too good for the likes of him. Wasn't that why he hadn't told her about the posters all over town, after all? Because she was too good to risk losing, and now he'd lost her anyway.

She didn't sleep long, he didn't think. Maybe an hour or so before he felt her begin to stir. The light was starting to fade to a warm glow, and he was ready for her to ask him to take her home to her father. She'd toss him aside like the piece of garbage he was and thank her lucky stars she'd done nothing besides kiss him a couple times. A little bit of adventure with the drug dealer before she went on with her life.

His bird (but she wasn't really his anymore, was she?) turned to look at him, though. All big sparkly blue eyes, and it made him feel like he was worth something for just a little bit longer. He kissed her, mostly just to see what she'd do if he tried it. He half expected that she'd shove him off, because it'd be quicker that way. Get it over with and get on with life. She didn't, though – she kissed him back like she'd always done before.

Belle was more bold than Birdie had been, dipping her tongue into his mouth and arching her body into his. Maybe she was slumming, maybe she was still confused, but he wasn't some fancy tosser gonna turn her down to be polite. Instead, he rolled over her and ground his cock against her. She should push him away, yell at him for trying something with her, something besides welcome his touch. Not Belle, though – she had her hands in his locs, rubbing his scalp and making little panting noises as he kissed and bit at her neck and left marks that she wouldn't be able to get rid of right away even after she'd left him.

She tugged at his shirt, trying to yank it over his head and he ripped it off without hesitation, baring his scarred chest to her without a second thought. That should have calmed her down, the scars where he'd driven bottles into his chest without mirroring the stab wound marring her perfect skin. Instead, she traced fingers around the misshapen circles and caressed them so gently it shook him to his soul. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand her touching him like he was something worth touching. Nosty grabbed her hand, holding it still against his skin. Belle didn't flinch, though. She met his eyes and slowly started to work her own shirt up with her free hand.

That was all he needed to see, he released her wrist and grabbed the shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it across the room before falling on her with his mouth and his hands. She cried out as he took her dusky pink nipple in between his teeth and teased it with his tongue. He wanted to pry his name from her lips. If she was slumming with him, then he'd make damn sure she knew who she was doing it with. He'd mark her as his down to her soul if she'd let him, touch her like no one had ever touched her before and drive out all the memories of whoever else she'd let touch her in the dark. She squirmed underneath him, working her knee in between his thighs to press against his tackle and he groaned into her skin.

She worked her hands into his kilt, something she'd never done before. She didn't touch his prick, though – instead, she dug her nails into the flesh of his arse, forcing him to closer to her. He growled again, ripping the damn thing off and pressing his naked flesh against her hip as he tried to work his hands under her skirt and into those damn tights. Finally, he just tore them off – he'd get her new ones if she wanted 'em, but he needed her naked more than he could explain. He needed her to be bare beneath him, needed to see her face when he was inside of her – needed her to need him.

Belle didn't protest the violence, instead she seemed excited by it – her pupils blowing wide as she wriggled her skirt off herself, tossing it aside and pressing her mouth back against his. It didn't take him long to find her cunt with his fingers. This was something Nosty liked doing, but kept to himself. Weren't something you really wanted your mates to catch you in the middle of, and privacy was a luxury he wasn't used to for this sort of thing. He was more likely to have a quick fuck in an alley or under a bridge, laying down under blankets was something of a novelty. Didn't mean he couldn't get used to it, though. Especially as he studied her face while he teased her clit and minge with his fingers to see what she liked. The way her breath caught when he did _this_ but not _that_ gave him clues to follow to unlocking her pleasure, and he chased after them eagerly. He had to draw this out, because once it was over he wasn't sure what was going to happen. For right now, though, with his fingers buried in her and his lips around her perfect nipples there wasn't any room to misinterpret things.

It wasn't long enough before she had her nails dug into his shoulders and she was making these little gasping yelps that meant she was close. He should probably finish her off, but instead he withdrew. Her eyes flew open as his hand left her body and she clung to him like a lifeline. He took his time, though, pulling her hands off of him and pressing them over her head with his hands. She didn't struggle as he maneuvered in between her legs, or when he lined himself up with her. Instead, she let out a choked sob as he thrust into her hard, and wrapped her legs around his hips to hold him closer. It wasn't long before she was crying out in time with his thrusts, rolling her hips to get him exactly where she wanted him to be. He tried to hold off as long as he could, but he felt the moment that she came and her cunt clenched hard around him. His thrusts became erratic as she pulled him deeper in, and it wasn't until he'd cum deep inside her (which was a bad idea on both their parts, but he was too tired to regret it yet) that the blood in his ears finally quieted enough that he could hear the way she whispered his name over and over again.

When it was all over, neither one said anything. Nosty still half expected her to take one long look at him and take off, but she didn't. Instead, she half pushed him onto his back and snuggled under his arm. Maybe she wasn't planning to leave, he decided. But that didn't mean she would be staying. It was one thing to spend a couple weeks living in poverty and sleeping with a street rat, it was another entirely to decide to stay there forever. Very few people chose this life, but Nosty was one of them. He wasn't meant for domestication. He'd been on the streets since he was a lad – it'd been preferable to any place he'd ever stayed because at least here he was entirely his own man. No one could tell him what to do and he wasn't responsible for no one, either.

What the hell was he doing with this lass curled up next to him and drawing little circles across his chest with her fingers? The worst part was, he couldn't even ask her, because he wasn't even sure if he wanted her there.

Luckily, her stomach broke the tension – letting out a noise that reminded them both that dinner was still sitting in a sack on the floor. They stuck to small subjects, neither one wanting to admit how fully things had changed. They were both aware of it, though – going through the motions of acting normal.

They fucked again as they lay in bed, still not saying anything about what was going on. They were racing against time now, and they both knew it. Everything had changed, and no matter what they were pretending things couldn't go back to the way they had been.


	3. Home

Belle couldn't regret what they'd done. She should, good lord she should – she'd known him about two weeks, she had no idea if he had anything contagious, and they hadn't used a condom either time. But the fact was, she didn't regret it – laying there with him in the dark was the least crazy she'd felt months, it was like she was finally waking up from a bad dream.

Nosty was asleep, and Belle was watching him intently. He looked different when he slept – when he was awake, he was constantly on guard like he was ready to attack some unseen enemy at a moment's notice. She knew why he looked like that now; because he had to be ready to fight. He'd not hesitated to jump in when he knew she was in danger, and maybe she should be afraid of that kind of violence but he'd faced down three men to keep her safe and that more than anything else he could have done for her convinced her that he was the right choice.

She could see morning beginning to dawn outside through the slats boarding the windows, and she was just beginning to think about getting dressed when she heard a noise elsewhere in the building.

Belle froze, holding her breath to see if the sound repeated. It could just be a stray cat drawn to the promise of warmth, or maybe another homeless person looking for shelter, but hot on the heels of her attack yesterday after so many days of solitude she didn't dare to trust that to be true.

The noise repeated, and she slowly moved her hand towards Nosty's shoulder, hoping to wake him without alerting anyone else to their location when there was a noise right outside the door. She shook him and whispered his name, but it was too late. The door banged open and Belle barely had enough time to wonder where Nosty's box cutter was when she registered that the men spilling into the room were wearing police uniforms and screaming for them to freeze.

Nosty had gone from dead sleep to high alert faster than Belle would have thought possible, for herself she could only clutch the blanket to her chest as he was pulled away from her. He was putting up a pretty good fight and it was taking four of them to hold him pinned to the floor. She gasped and called his name, but then there were more hands pulling her up and away from him and he was screaming for her but she couldn't get them to let her go. She just wanted to go back to Nosty, but people were pulling her out into the street and there were blankets wrapped around her and paramedics shuffling her into the back of the ambulance.

Why wouldn't anyone listen to her? She didn't need to go to the hospital, she needed to go back to their little sanctuary and forget the world. She wanted to wrap herself up around him and not be Belle French, mental patient and daughter of a murdered mother. She wanted to be Birdie again.

People kept poking her and hooking her up to monitors and taking her temperature. At some point, the cops brought Nosty out. Someone had let him get dressed, at least. He had his shoulders back and his chin up, like he didn't even care about the handcuffs keeping him in place or the police putting him in the back of their car.

She called his name and tried to run to him, but they wouldn't let her and she stopped fighting them when she saw how much it upset him to see her like that. He was banging his head into the seat in front of him when Belle was finally locked up in the ambulance and driven away.

It wasn't really a surprise to get brought back to the same hospital as before and handed to the nurses. She did her best to remain calm. She knew they were going to try to drug her, and she didn't like her chances of remaining sober if they thought they had to give her something to make her pliable. At first, at least, it wasn't so bad. They took her blankets, but gave her soap and shampoo and told her to get clean in one of the shower stalls. No matter how much she'd loved the streets, she had missed feeling clean. When she was done, they gave her clean underwear and a set of scrubs to wear. They were itchy, but warm enough for the moment.

She was taken to one of the exam rooms and told a doctor would be in shortly, but she couldn't really make herself care. She was tired and so worried about Nosty. How did they even know where to find them? She knew she was supposed to sit, but found she couldn't. She had far too much nervous energy and all she could notice was how there was really no place in this room she could sit and be sure nobody could get behind her.

She finally heard a small knock on the door and she jumped, pressing her back against one of the walls and watching carefully as the doctor entered. He was a small, balding man – perhaps in his late forties. He didn't make any move to approach her, for which she was thankful.

“Hello,” he said simply, moving the long way around the room to perch on a chair near the exam table. “You must be Belle French.”

She nodded, still not approaching him.

“I'm Dr. Schubert,” he continued when she didn't reply. “I understand you've had quite a stressful few months.”

“Where's Nosty?” she blurted out.

“Who's Nosty?”

“The man I was with,” she replied. “The police took him away. Where is he?”

“I'm afraid I don't know,” Dr. Schubert admitted, flipping through the pages of his clipboard quickly. “Why don't you sit down and talk to me for a little bit and then I'll see if I can't find that out for you, okay?”

On the one hand, Belle very much did not want to go near any strange man when locked alone in a room, but she also desperately needed to know where Nosty was and this was her best chance.

“You don't have to come all the way over here,” he finally said when she'd been silent too long. “Why don't you just come away from the wall a little bit and we can talk that way?”

That she could do, moving a couple steps away from her position in the far corner of the room.

“That's better,” he said comfortingly. “Now, why don't you tell me about why you left the hospital before?”

“I don't remember much of anything from before,” she said truthfully. “I was on so many medications that everything is a blur.”

“So you weren't going anywhere in particular?”

“Not that I can remember,” she continued. “I just remember thinking a lot about blood and how cold I was.”

He made a noise and wrote something on his charts. She wanted to know what it was he was writing, what had she said that was so interesting, but she couldn't see from where she was.

“I'm just making a note about your medication,” he said as though sensing her anxiety. “So you were cold. What's the next thing you remember?”

“I woke up,” she replied. “I woke up and I was warm and under a blanket.”

“And where were you?”

“I was in the room they found us in, and Nosty had taken care of me.”

“Were you with Nosty the entire time you were gone?”

“He left sometimes,” she replied, shifting her weight a little. “But he always came back. And he always took care of me.”

“Do you know how the police knew where to find you?” he asked her and she shook her head. “Will you come sit over here with me? You don't have to use the table, but there's another chair here.”

She chewed her lip a little, staring at the chair and back at him. He put his foot on the seat and pushed it further towards her and away from him, which was a gesture she appreciated. Finally, she reached out and pulled the chair a little bit closer before sitting. He smiled at her, but otherwise didn't draw attention to it.

“There were missing persons posters of you, Belle,” he explained. “Did you know that? Your father was offering a reward.”

She hadn't known that, but she also wasn't entirely surprised, so she shook her head.

“Three boys saw you and Nosty together,” Dr. Schubert continued. “And they recognized your posters, so they went to the police and said where to find you.”

“Those boys are rapists,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Are they?” he seemed a little startled by that. “Why do you say that?”

“They abducted me,” she explained. “That's how they knew where I was. They took me when I was getting water and Nosty had to rescue me.”

“I see,” he said as he scribbled a little bit more on his notes. “Belle, do you realize you use a lot of nurturing language when you talk about Nosty?”

“How so?”

“You've told me he rescued you and that he took care of you,” the doctor explained. “Hearing me say it, does that sound accurate to what happened?”

“I think so,” she replied. “When I woke up that first day, I couldn't remember who I was and had no place else to go. I was very dependent on him and he didn't abuse that trust, even when I was too sick from the medication to move.”

He hummed, making more notes.

“Why am I back here?” she finally asked into his silence. “I'm not psychotic anymore. I'm not a danger to myself or others – I'm adult, don't you think I should be able to make my own choices?”

“I doubt you'll be here very long,” he replied. “As you say, your psychotic break seems to be over. I am a little worried about your post traumatic stress, though.”

“Can't that be handled in outpatient treatment?”

“It can,” he said, snapping his notebook closed. “I'm going to be honest with you, Belle. You're a very intelligent woman who has been through an enormous amount of stress this year. My concern isn't so much your mental state – I'd say anyone who has been through the sort of trauma you've experienced would be having similar problems – so much as it is that your reaction to this trauma has been to live on the street.”

“Why is that concerning?” she challenged him. “I was very happy there.”

“It's concerning because a good portion of the people on the street are suffering from an untreated mental illness of some variety, much like yourself. I'd hate to see you give up on recovery when you're making such good progress.”

Belle thought about that for a little while.

“I just want to go home,” she finally said softly. “I'm so, so tired.”

“Your father is here to see you,” Dr. Schubert said softly. “I'd like to hold you for observation for a day or two, but after that we can try releasing you into his custody. Does that sound okay?”

She nodded. She could pretend to be alright for another day or two, and then she would find Nosty and they would fix this somehow.

“Okay,” she said with a soft nod. “But no more medications.”

“As long as you're not behaving erratically or dangerously, we can try without medication for a little while,” he said. “But at some point in the future I'd like to talk about anti-depressants.”

“Alright,” she replied firmly. “Can I see my father now?”

Dr. Schubert nodded, standing and leading her to another room, this one in a brilliant shade of white with institutional quality furniture in it. She recognized it as a family room, mostly from having seen such a thing on television shows than from having been in it before. Her last stint in this place hadn't really lent itself well to visitors, after all.

“Belle,” her father practically sighed her name and rushed to engulf her in a hug. “Oh my poor girl. I was so worried.”

“I'm alright, papa,” she said gently, patting his back a little. “I'm here. I'm safe.”

It wasn't until he pulled away and Belle saw the dark circles under his eyes that she began to realize perhaps losing his wife and then his daughter vanishing off the face of the earth for two weeks may have taken more of a toll on him than she'd originally thought.

“Thank God,” Moe whispered. “When I heard you'd been found with a violent drug dealer...well, I feared the worst, Belle.”

He was close to tears and Belle felt her stomach drop to the floor. She'd known all along that Nosty was up to illegal things when he wasn't with her, but having them spelled out for her in so many words just made it all the more real somehow. Still, though, she owed it to him to rescue him from whatever was going on. She was the reason he was...someplace. She would be the one to save him this time.

“It wasn't like that at all,” she said softly, letting her father guide her to a chair. “I was there of my own free will. He was...kind.”

Moe didn't look like he believed her, but he didn't argue at least.

“Belle, darling, you can tell me anything, you know. I'll love you no matter what.”

“I'm telling the truth, papa,” she insisted. “He was my friend. He saved me from the boys who turned us in, actually. They were the dangerous ones, not him. Not to me.”

Moe bristled a little at the mention of the boys having attacked her, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he placed his hand over both of hers and nodded. She could see the tears starting to gather in the corner of his eyes.

“Alright, my girl,” he said with a smile. “If you say so, then I believe you.”

“Do you know where he is?” she asked. “The doctor wouldn't tell me.”

If anyone would know, her father would. The police would have told him, she was sure.

“He's been arrested,” Moe said quietly. “For vagrancy, assault, and holding you captive.”

“But I wasn't his captive!” she exclaimed. “They have to let him go, he didn't do anything to me, and that boy he cut up tried to rape me!”

“It's not as easy as all that,” he said sadly. “Wait until you're better, then we can talk this all through, alright?”

It wasn't alright. It wasn't even close to alright, but Belle had to play along. The doctor had said she had a couple of days. She could last a couple of days, and then she would find Nosty and she would rescue him. That was a promise.

 

The doctor was good to his word. No one attempted to drug Belle, even when she woke up screaming from nightmares that her time with Nosty had made her forget she had. The morning of her third day back at the hospital, she was given a referral to an outpatient treatment program and her possessions from her intake back. The clothes she'd worn in her life before felt odd on her – they were expensive and warm and belonged to a woman who had been so much more naïve about the workings of the world, but Belle needed to look like that woman if she was to complete her quest.

It had taken a little doing, but since she was ostensibly Nosty's victim she'd been able to find out what prison he was in and when his court date was set for. She'd even prepared a good story to get the guards to let her in to see him, but that hadn't mattered in the end. The guards barely even bothered to ask her name, and certainly didn't care to know why she was visiting (she was fairly sure at least one of them assumed she was his solicitor).

Honestly, it was all she could do not to tackle him in a hug the moment he was led into the room with her, but there were guards posted all around to prevent that sort of thing, so instead she just settled for giving him a reassuring smile.

He didn't smile back, though. He looked different, there was a hollowness to his eyes she'd not really seen before except those first few nights when his energy seemed to drain from him. He didn't seem at all happy to see her.

“What the fuck are ya doin' here, Birdie?” he said once he was in his chair and the guards were far enough away. “Thought you'd be long gone by now.”

“They took me back to the hospital,” she replied. “But apparently I'm not a danger to myself or others anymore, so they let me go. I came as soon as I could.”

“What the bloody hell would you want to come to this shit hole for?”

“I missed you,” she said defensively. “I missed you and you're only here because of me. Of course I came.”

“Nah,” he replied caustically. “Just a little misunderstanding, love. It'll all be sorted out soon enough. Why don't you run back home to your daddy, yeah?”

Belle thought she might be sick. She had struggled and fought to get here to see him and here he was practically casting her aside. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him off and storm out, but something stopped her. There was still the same darkness as before, and this was still the same man who had held her every night for two weeks and chased away her bad dreams. She wouldn't let him be rid of her so quickly.

“I'm not leaving,” she shot back. “I don't care what you say. I don't know why you're trying to push me away, but I'm here now. You helped me when I was lost, and I'm going to help you.”

His attitude seemed to shift at that, and he gave her a long appraising look.

“Well aren't you just a right little hero, then?” he said caustically. “Got your head back on right and come to rescue me from my life of crime?”

“No,” she replied, trying to keep her temper. “I got my head back on right and I'm going to get you out of jail, Nosty. What you do after that is up to you.”

“I always knew you were too good for the likes of me,” he snarled. “I knew you'd take off as soon as you could.”

“I'm not leaving you,” she bit out. “You saved me. Over and over again you saved me. Now I'm going to try to do the same for you, if you'll let me.”

“I don't need your charity.”

“It's not about charity, can't you see that?” she exclaimed. “I love you, you stupid bastard! I hate waking up when you're not there and I don't want to do it anymore! I'm not fixed yet, but I'm getting better and I never realized how damaged you are, too. If we can't save ourselves, maybe we can save each other?”

She held tight to the edge of the table to anchor herself down because she half felt like she'd float away now that all of that was off her chest, as though that secret was the one thing keeping her tied to the earth. He was staring down at his own hands on the table and working his jaw like he couldn't figure out what to say.

“You shouldn't have come, Birdie,” he finally said so quietly she almost didn't hear him. “You got a future, you know. Pretty thing like you? Smart? Little bit of money? You've got no need to be wasting your time with the likes of me.”

“You don't mean that,” she whispered.

“Get out while ya can, Birdie,” he replied. “'Least I got to see you one last time, yeah?”

“I'm not going anywhere, Nosty,” she insisted. “And I'm going to do whatever I can to prove it to you. But first, I have to get you out of here.”

 

Birdie was damn intent on this, and Nosty almost admired her for it, but he was just so damn tired it was hard to feel much of anything. These crashes were always hard, and this one...this one felt like he was dying. It was a physical ache in his chest, pushing him down into the ground further and further each day. He was a corpse, he just hadn't stopped breathing yet. Poor stubborn Birdie, though. She was hellbent on getting him let out, throwing into it a determination he'd never seen in her. Meanwhile he got in three fights that first week just so he could go to solitary, because being forced to make conversation at mealtimes was taking up so much energy he couldn't think straight anymore.

He usually had more time in between these low periods, but this one hadn't even been a month yet. Sometimes stressful events could bring them on, and getting ripped naked out of bed and arrested for whatever the fuck all the charges had been had been pretty damn stressful – especially since he hadn't really thought he'd see her again after they shoved her into the back of that ambulance and drove her off. Instead she was coming to see him daily. At least his stint in the hole put an end to the peculiar torture of seeing her without being able to touch – she wrote him letters, though; and she'd hired a solicitor, because she still seemed to think there was hope for...something.

The solicitor he was still allowed to see, no matter how many fights he got in so eventually he stopped trying. He looked like a right prat, but only laughed when Nosty told him so and said that he was definitely a prat, but that's how he earned his pay. Nosty couldn't help but almost like him after that.

The trial ended up being a shit show on the part of the crown, even Nosty (as fucking tired as he was) could see that. Belle had flatly refused to admit to being held captive, and had pressed charges against the bloke he assaulted for attempted rape. All they really had him on at that point was the vagrancy, and the prat got that one tossed out once Belle promised that she'd help him back on his feet.

That one, Nosty had a bit to say about. Not quite enough to land him back in the slammer for contempt before they had time to drag him out of the building, though.

So he'd been shoved into a car and his Birdie was driving him further out of the city than he'd ever been in his life. If he felt even close to alive, he'd probably have run off at the first stop for petrol and wandered into the woods to die but he didn't have the strength left for that anymore. She was babbling something about how she thought this would be good for both of them, get a fresh start out in the country.

Of fucking course she had a cottage in the fucking country, didn't she? Like a right proper lady, and she could clean him up and take him 'round to tea with the neighbors and the old hens could cluck politely about the stray pup she'd picked up and taken home with her. Like the fucking Pygmalion, which not a damn one of them would believe he'd even heard of much less read.

He was trying to figure out if it was too late to try to talk her into turning around when she suddenly pulled up in front of nothing and said they were here. He looked around but he was so used to the city that he didn't even really register the little cottage as a building at first, much less a place people would live.

She turned toward him again and it took all his energy to focus on her voice and not his thoughts.

“So,” she said with a pretty blush. “What do you think?”

“It's a house,” he said with a shrug. “Four walls and everything.”

“It's not just a house,” she said softly. “It's my house – our house, if you want it to be.”

“I've never been this far out in the country, Birdie.”

“I know,” she replied but she didn't know because he'd never told her, dammit. “I just...I thought we could both use a change of scenery. At least until you're feeling better.”

“I'm fine,” he snapped. “Ain't nothing wrong with me a little time away won't fix.”

“Well, this is away,” she replied. “And you're welcome to stay as long as you like. It doesn't have to be forever, you know.”

She leaned over to kiss his cheek, kiss his temple, kiss the corner of his mouth. He sighed and leaned into her as she nuzzled his neck.

“I can stay a bit,” he replied with some effort. “No promises.”

“I can live with that.”

 

_Six months later..._

He still wasn't quite sure it was going to be forever yet, but Nosty would begrudgingly admit that she'd been right to bring him up here. His brain still went funny sometimes, but it was so much _easier_ here. It was easier to get away when he needed to and easier to burn off the extra energy, too.

He missed the noise of the city, though. It was a noise that had lived in his head and in his bones since he was a wee thing, and not having it felt strange still.

She'd gotten a dog, too. He had no idea why, just that one day he'd woken up and there'd been a little ball of fur in the living room. She said it was to keep the horse company, even though the horse didn't come until three months later. The dog still confounded him, but he and the horse got on surprisingly well, all things considered. He was the one who mucked out its stall, he was the one who brought it food, who brushed its coat and cleaned its hooves. He liked the horse. The horse was quiet, it was patient. It never pushed him too far or asked for more than he had to give.

Most of all, though, he liked Belle. He remembered her near tears in a prison meeting room saying she loved him and she'd save him if he let her, and he remembered her bathed in fading daylight stark naked and eating sandwiches in the hours after the first time they fucked in a dirty room in a condemned building. Now, though, he also had memories of Belle making breakfast in a pretty nightgown and Belle and the dog (who she'd insisted was called Toby) curled up under a blanket with popcorn watching a terrible movie with him. She wasn't the same girl he'd found unconscious and shivering on the floor anymore, but that weren't a bad thing. She was stronger, feistier, more resilient. She didn't have nightmares anymore, said she never did when he was there.

She had turned out to be the arguing sort, though he couldn't say he really minded it these days – she challenged him when he needed it and fought damn hard to keep him afloat when he just wanted to drown. He'd fallen in love with the damn woman, and she refused to let him forget it even for a second. It was inconvenient as fucking hell, but he was pretty sure he'd just have to learn to cope.

 


End file.
